


Until He’s Gone

by MissLee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Good Peter Hale, Hurt Peter, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safewords, Sexual Coercion, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLee/pseuds/MissLee
Summary: Stiles was raped when he was a teenager by someone he had a passing crush on. He tries to use sex to help himself cope but it doesn’t work.





	Until He’s Gone

* * *

He’d been eyeing up the boy all night, watching furtively as he shifted restlessly the more aware he became of the insistent eyes roving over his body. It was just supposed to be harmless company, a casual hangout with a decent movie and some artery-clogging pizza, but the air in the room changed with the climax of the film’s plot.

Peter placed a warm, firm hand on Stiles’ thigh, sliding it up when the boy didn’t immediately shy away. He smirked quietly to himself, he wasn't imaging the attraction then.

He heard the exact moment when Stiles’ realised he was out of his depth, indicated by a halted breath and the tensing of the muscles underneath his palm. ”Stiles,” he began lowly and circled his thumb into the soft flesh of the boy’s inner thigh. ”Am I right in thinking that you're attracted to me?” Peter watched as Stiles’ eyes flitted nervously over to him as he inched closer until they were pressed tightly together, hot breath ghosting over the junction between Stiles’ neck and shoulder.

”Y-yes,” Stiles admitted quietly, not daring himself to look over and see the smirk writ clearly on to Peter’s face. He felt his face flush at the soft huff of an amused laugh, barely an inch away from him. When had he gotten so close?

”You’ve been quite the tease, Stiles.” Peter admonished and abruptly pulled back. ”Don’t you think it’s unfair to have strung me along like this for weeks?” _Weeks?_ ”I’ve wanted you since the beginning and you're only just telling me this now?” 

Stiles gulped and turned to look at him, ”I’m sorry?” He guessed, eyes going wide at the heat he saw in Peter’s gaze. 

”Don’t you think you should make it up to me?” He gestured to his lap, adjusting his position so that the bulge in his jeans was visibly on display. A part of Stiles thinks that he doesn’t have to do that - he doesn't need to do anything that he doesn’t want to - but the other part of him whispers that he _has_ fantasisedabout this and that if he refused now he may never get another chance like this. Tentatively, he straddles the man’s thighs.

”Now that's better,” the man praises and it makes something uncomfortable like contentment rise up in him. ”I like you better like this.” He’s tense when a moment later the hand from earlier retakes it’s place on his thigh, this time joined by the other so that both hands were able to grope at the place where his legs meet his pelvis. It’s a possessive touch that the man doesn’t even hestitate to give. 

“God you’re beautiful,” the man groans from under him as Stiles shivers when fingers begin to push up the hem of his shirt. He spares a brief thought for his overshirt that he surrendered when he arrived, graciously taken off of him by the man caressing almost reverently up his torso, working his top up as he goes. 

Soon he’s shirtless and exposed in the otherwise quiet room, the film having ended minutes ago. It’s cold, so cold that he feels his nipples pebble as he sways back slightly, unconsciously drawing into himself. Strong arms come around his back though and he’s pressed tightly to the man’s front, having his skinny chest mouthed at. “I’m... not sure I...” he trails off into a gasp as a tongue flicks over his nipple and a hand grabs his ass through his jeans. A low heat curdles in his stomach, equal parts pleasant and nauseating like his body isn’t sure how to interpret what’s going on. 

He starts to wriggle as the hand on his ass gets more insistent and the other begins to work on the button at his front. “Remember, sweetheart, I’m just taking what you’ve been dangling in front of me all this time.” The man pauses in his ministrations to look up and appreciate Stiles flushed cheeks and bitten lips, “You don’t even know you’re doing it, do you? Long legs and gorgeous ass, your sweet, round eyes and whorish mouth,” the button pops open just as he growls, “you’ve been taunting me for ages and I’m going to _take what’s mine_.” With that he throws Stiles off and on to the other end of the couch, tugging the dazed boy’s pants down until they’re stuck around his knees, restricting the movements of his legs, taking his underwear down with them. 

By the time Stiles had worked out what was happening it was too late to save his modesty; the man had gotten his legs pushed up and out of the way, bending Stiles almost painfully in half, and was staring with dark eyes intently at his hole. “So perfect and _tight_ \- going to wreck you.” 

“No, please no,” he whimpered pathetically, embarrassed and afraid and nearly completely unable to breathe with the rising panic. “You can’t!” He gasped, “please, I’ve never-“ 

“Never what, been fucked?” He taunts, and laughs at Stiles nod, pressing harder on his bound legs, watching delightedly as tears prick at the corner of the boy’s eyes. “Fucking whore, you can’t expect me to believe that.” And suddenly Stiles isn’t there anymore, he’s listening as the man wrestles with his own pants and eventually gets them enough out of the way so that his cock is freed, slapping his stomach when it springs up with how hard he is and Stiles can’t see it but he can already feel how it’s going to hurt, how it’s going to be exactly like last time and- 

“Red! Red, I can’t- I can’t do it.” He sobs as his legs are dropped and suddenly Peter is there and he’s back and it’s always been Peter this whole time and he’s stroking his hair and holding Stiles close so he can breathe in the comforting scent of Peter’s cologne as he cries and shakes. 

He becomes aware of Peter murmuring soothing noises into the top of his head and focuses on getting his breathing under control so he can hear them. “-Kay, Stiles. Everything’s okay and it’s just me and you. He isn’t here, he can’t hurt you, my love. It’s just us - nobody else - and you’re safe.” There’s a blanket over him, covering his lower half that must be from the back of their couch. Still, though, he pulls his knees up as much as he can, shrivelling away from old memories. 

When Stiles has quieted enough that it’s now just the odd hiccuping cry and slightly uneven breathing, Peter kisses his cheek and whispers about going to run him a hot bath. It’s become their ritual; after they try the scene and Stiles inevitably safewords, Peter will let him have a moment to himself and will go and run a bath with lavender oil and wait until Stiles comes to him. 

He does so, slowly and with his head bowed, the rest of his clothes abandoned in the living room. Peter has never seen him so shaken before, at least not afterwards. His shoulders are slumped and his fingers white-knuckled where they hold the blanket securely around him. He’s unsteady on his feet and sways where he stands in the doorway, waiting for the next part of their ritual. 

“Do you want me to join you?” 

Stiles shakes his head.

Peter isn’t surprised, hurt maybe, but not  surprised. They’ve never gotten so far before and he wonders how much their relationship can take before the constant reliving of trauma becomes too much for them. 

He steps swiftly around Stiles, careful not to touch him, and waits for the door to close before going through to clear up. He picks up Stiles clothes, the particular ones he wears whenever they do this, and wishes he could burn them, hating that whenever he has to take them off of his lover that Stiles is seeing someone else and suffering through every moment of it. They serve as a constant reminder in the back of his closet - his own, not Stiles’ - that Stiles isn’t free from the clutches of his attacker, and that sometimes he’ll still wake up in the middle of the night screaming at an invisible form to stop. 

It hurts that Stiles continues to ask for it, that no matter how many times they try he always asks for _just once more, I can handle it this time, I promise Peter - he’s nearly gone_.

And Peter is a fool who knows by know that it won’t work but he does it anyway because if he can help rid Stiles of that haunted look he sometimes gets when they’re cuddling in the afterglow, then isn’t it worse not to? 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Is this what I expected to be writing? Absolutely not. Am I a bit conflicted about it? Yes. Full disclosure, I have never been unlucky enough to have this happen to me but I was inspired by an orphan account’s fic to write something a bit dark and now we have this. 
> 
> It’s probably wrong to say I hope you enjoyed this but I at least hope you took something away from it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please, if you want, leave a comment and tell me what you thought. I’ve never done anything like this before so I welcome any and all feedback. 
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://missleeismyname.tumblr.com/)  
> ~ ML x


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